More than Fashion

15

I kept my back to him, but I could feel his eyes on me. Judging me. Distracting me. Making me f*****g crazy. I slammed my scissors down, ripped off a corner of my sketch pad paper, and scribbled, What’s so damn funny?

I crumpled up the note and threw the tiny paper ball on his table. I refused to look at him, but I heard him chuckle again. A minute later, he discreetly slipped me the wrinkled piece of paper as he walked to the sewing room. He’d written underneath my message, his handwriting neat and precise, with sharp, bold strokes.

Just that I’m not the only one you’re pretending you didn’t know before the show.

I scratched off another message with my pencil and dropped it at his feet after he returned. I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Anyone else? he wrote back. Is Lola secretly an old family friend?

I blew out a long breath and closed my eyes, too tired to deal with his bullshit. Could you please just not mention this to anyone?

Don’t worry, love. Your secrets are safe with me.

Maybe. Maybe not.

I continued working on my dress, but right when I was in the zone, Kelsey popped into the room and told us we had to take thirty-minute breaks in shifts. My name was called for the first shift, naturally. With the clock ticking and so much work to do, I didn’t want to spend a second away from my workstation. Even if lunch would probably be good for me.

Back to the breakroom from earlier, but this time it had more substantial food than just champagne and tiny appetizers. I forced myself to eat a turkey sandwich and chug some soda, ignoring the other designers in the room as best I could. I didn’t have the energy to socialize with people I might not know after today.

I finished eating in five minutes and felt about a thousand times better for it, but Kelsey refused to let me get back to work. “Labor laws, sorry!”

I scowled at her, but crashed on a sofa in the corner. Maybe if I closed my eyes for a minute my head would stop spinning.

Ah, blissful darkness, with only the sounds of the low buzz of conversation and the familiar hum of sewing machines. Perfect. One fifteen-minute cat nap and I’d be back to work and better than ever.

***

A hand on my shoulder jolted me awake. I blinked, dazed and blinded by the bright light above me. Gavin stood over me, his dark eyebrows drawn together, a frown on his pretty mouth.

“Wake up, love,” he said, nudging me again.

Trina stood beside him, her arms crossed. “C’mon, Julie, you need to get up.”

I groaned and sat up, the darkness in my mind slowly receding. A quick survey of the breakroom showed that all the designers during my lunch shift were gone. A sick, dizzy feeling settled in my stomach, but this time it wasn’t from my hangover.

“How long?” I asked.

Gavin and Trina exchanged a look. “We’re not sure,” Trina said. “We came in for our break and found you like this.”

“No, how long left in the challenge?”

“One hour,” Gavin said.

Shit.

CHAPTER SIX

I rushed into the design room in a panic, my brain stuck on a loop of f**k s**t f**k s**t before taking a detour to oh god what have I done and I’m so f*****g screwed.

I’d lost almost an hour while passed out on the couch. Not a single person from my shift nor the shift after that had woken me. Those jerks. And where was Kelsey? If Gavin and Trina hadn’t taken pity on me, I’d probably still be asleep.

Once at my workstation, I weighed my options, trying not to freak out even more. I had so much to do on my dress and very little time left. My original design wouldn’t work; I’d never get it finished for the runway show. I’d have to do something a little less complicated, something I could get done in less than an hour. But what?

My little nap might have ruined my chances of staying on the show, but I had to admit I did feel a lot better now. My headache and nausea were gone, replaced only by a grim determination to get this dress done in time, however I could.

Before I knew it, Carla was back with her hair and makeup done, her skin practically glowing. The dress was still nowhere near what I wanted it to be, but we got it on her and it didn’t look too bad. I made a few adjustments, snipping strings off the hem, and found her some black knee-high boots in the nearby accessory room, which had more necklaces, purses, bracelets, and hats than I’d ever seen in one place before. I even spotted some bronze goggles, of all things. I made a mental note to use those for a future challenge.

Once Carla was dressed, I stepped back to survey my work while she walked back and forth in front of me—and I wanted to cry. The dress looked rushed and sloppy and, even worse, uninspired. I slouched against the table, rubbing my face.

“It fits great,” Carla said, twirling a little and making the skirt flare out. “I’m sure the judges will love it.”

“It’s a disaster. They’re going to send me home for sure.”

“They won’t. Not a chance.”

“I’ll be happy to just get to the next challenge. Today’s been rough.”

She moved to give me a hug, but then paused, glancing around. Instead, she gave me a warm smile. “You will. I’m sure of it.” Lola appeared in the doorway, clapping her hands sharply and calling out, “Designers! Time for the runway show!”